


Safety

by CharlieIsMyName



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Mild Blood, Moral Dilemmas, No Dialogue, Not Beta Read, One-Sided Attraction, Psychological Trauma, Spoilers, Stream of Consciousness, Survivor Guilt, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27585437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieIsMyName/pseuds/CharlieIsMyName
Summary: Maki knew how it felt to suffer.She didn't know how it felt to grieve.
Relationships: Harukawa Maki & Momota Kaito, Harukawa Maki/Momota Kaito
Kudos: 8





	Safety

**Author's Note:**

> Old! Feedback would be appreciated!

He always looked so stupid. With the way he would sputter and panic in nearly any situation, with drastically exaggerated and almost inane overreactions. The way he would childishly reject any proposition that contrasted his own ideals, all the while yelling and attacking things aimlessly. These kinds of behaviors were so easy to slap a label on. She thought he looked especially stupid sprawled out and bleeding.

It was almost as if he had never been alive in the first place. It would be so simple just to disregard his existence and pretend that he had never uttered a breath before, and never would. But she didn’t want to. It was the kind of selfish and raw desire only exhibited in small children and those who had not bothered to grow up. It was something that she was not. 

She could not help but feel some sort of sickly pride at the concept that she had usurped herself once again, allowing her emotions to control her, something she had learned to stop a long time ago. It felt almost like she was rebelling, going against the system in such a way that was just as cowardly as if she had not, perhaps even more so. She was protesting the only way that was safe, silently, against herself, where no one could hurt her. It was not her; not her at all. 

Those who had acted were stupid, just like him. They had all risked so much and had lost it all, a chance at life and so much more. The first victim had acted and had gotten his head bashed it for it. The second culprit had acted and had fallen to her doom. It was the same every time. He had acted, set out on a goal and failed. She had been strong, he had been weak. She was alive, and he was not. He had given in to his desires, something she would never do. But that was a lie.

Those who did not act were stupid too. To not do anything was an outright admission of defeat, a white flag in the face of opposition. It was complete cowardice. The second victim had not acted, he had accepted death. The student council had not acted, they had caused death. The red-head, who she could barely remember the name of, had not acted and had sent her friend to die rejected. It was disgusting, and it was what she had settled to do. But the only time she had decided against it, she had been wrong.

She lacked a proper understanding of how to process emotions and desires, something she was faced with every day here. Her ignorance had a certain naivety to it, something so innocent and child-like, compared to everything else about her. It was the kind of feeling that she had witnessed before, in the entirely pitiful nature of children that had not yet been defiled. It was so sympathetic that it no longer was.

She had never been the type to experience sympathy, especially for others. It was the kind of thing she had deemed as out outright uneccesary, and she had been right. Exposing yourself to sympathy was more of an adversary than those that she had targeted. That's how she had been raised. Her childhood was completely built around cementing that into her, affixing a certain set of ideals and allowing no means of escape. It was easy to say that she hated her childhood, but in its entirety, it’s all she ever been. She still longed for certain portions from it, the ones where she was playing and enjoying herself, something that she almost never had the opportunity to do.

She would spend a lot of time outside as a kid. She had always been stronger than the other children, dominating them in the play-fights and real fights that would occur very often. She had always had absolutely no problem harming others to get what she wanted, a trait of hers she had never been particularly proud of but was largely useful throughout her life. When outside, she would take things from nature. It had never been done for the sake of destruction, it had always been to maintain the beauty of it, and it ironically enough did the exact opposite. She especially loved to pick flowers, dig her nails into their stems and tear them out from the ground, savoring the satisfaction of being able to spread the beauty that the flowers possessed. Other kids would often steal them, which upset her. They would braid them, use them as accessories, and more often than not, eventually end up grinding them up into a gross pulp. One time she had made a necklace out of them. It was made by threading pulled out strands of hair through the green base of the flower’s head. It fell off. When she had to train outdoors, she would still pick them, as infrequent as they were, despite the violent scolding that she would later receive. The flowers would always die a few days later.

As much as she hated to admit it, she was still the same child that she was back then. She still had a desire for beauty in her life, though it manifested itself in a different form. It had manifested itself into a sort of longing for affection, the kind where she would imagine herself leading a different kind of life, the kind where she could relax, and partake in fun activities, like dates. She had wanted to take him on a date. She could not help but picture him saying kind things to her, asking her opinion on things, and spending time with her. She wondered if going out would have been alright, and where he would have taken her. Perhaps somewhere peaceful, like a library, where they could just sit together in silence, basking in each other’s company, or maybe reading a book together, huddled up close, something that she had never done comfortably before. They might go somewhere more classic, like a cafe, something that was all to often depicted in the cheap young-adult novels that they were provided with at the orphanage. They would be able to talk comfortably while partaking in coffee, or perhaps a sweeter beverage, like Hot Cocoa, something that she had never had before. They could also go to a movie theater, and enjoy childish films she had never had the opportunity to see before. She had killed someone in a movie theater once. But she was aware that all of those ideas were just selfish fantasies, and that they were no longer possible, and most likely never were. He had died before they could escape together. He had died before he could save her.


End file.
